


Only You

by kellbelle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellbelle/pseuds/kellbelle
Summary: This is the story of Hawke fleeing Kirkwall alone, having never romanced anyone and believing the man she loves could never love her back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at getting back into writing after some serious writer's block! The title may or may not be inspired by a Mac DeMarco song of the same name.

Another slaver lay dead at his feet. The whole lot of this group had been thoroughly eradicated by his lethal hand. For the moment, Kirkwall was safe from slavers until at least the next day. There was triumph in defeating such despicable people, triumph in which normally he would revel in. Not anymore.

He was hard-pressed to admit that life just had not been the same. The bulk of his friends had scattered during the chaos of Anders's terrorism. Only Aveline, Varric, and Merrill had remained within the city.

As he wiped his bloodied hand clean on a rag, he thought of her smile after a battle such as this. She would look to him with unadulterated glee in her warm brown eyes, as if she was sharing her glory with him.

He thought of her smile, the one she saved only for him with the corners of her mouth quirked upwards, unsure if it would ever be welcomed. It had been months since he had seen that smile and his life had been all the more dull for it.

The walk back into the city proper from the Wounded Coast was as uneventful as a leisurely stroll along the beach. He took no such pleasures from walking in the sun, feeling a light spray of seawater on his skin. A memory popped into his mind, unbidden, of when Hawke had once pulled him down to a cove from the very spot he passed, insistent on walking along the rocky tide pools to gaze in wonder at the little creatures. He had enjoyed himself then, watching her point out the crabs as they scuttled by.

There was little point in stopping by the Hanged Man on his way up to Hightown anymore. Varric still owned the seedy tavern, yes, but it was quieter without Isabela lurking at the bar with the dwarf. It had become ritual for Hawke's companions to get a drink and play Diamondback or Wicked Grace at least once a week. Now, the only person who Fenris ever played cards with was Donnic and even then he and Aveline were always busy cleaning up the abomination's mess.

Despite his qualms, he walked into the Hanged Man and ordered the house special. Once he had his drink, he set off for Varric's suite knowing the dwarf would be in at such an hour.

“Broody, I see you've been at work again,” Varric greeted as he entered the doorway. He was wearing his thin spectacles low on his nose, his eyes scanning through a novel as he barely glanced up at the elf and noticed the blood spatter.

“Varric,” Fenris said in greeting before taking a seat at his table. The very same table where they had gathered for weekly cards and ale.

“I've been meaning to give you a copy of this, fresh on the market,” Varric spoke with an almost mischievous smile as he slid the thick, red tome across the table for him to read. _The Tale of the Champion_ was its title, outlined in black.

“This... is about Hawke?” He wondered aloud, feeling suddenly anxious to crack open the book as if it would reveal more secrets about the apostate ally he'd grown to befriend over the years.

“Yeah, Hawke and all of us. I did tell you I was working on a book all these years,” the dwarf reminded him wryly. Yes, Varric had mentioned more than once but Fenris never believed he would see it come to fruition. “You might find the contents a bit embellished, of course, but as true as surely you can confirm. You were there for most of it.”

He didn't know what to say, trying not to think about the pang in his heart as the subject of this novel. “I shall begin tonight.”

* * *

 

There were things in the book he had never really known about Hawke. He had known her general background, but for some reason he had never thought to inquire about many of her interests and hobbies. For one, he had no idea she had been so young when they first met. She commanded respect on the battlefield, how could he have possibly known she had only just become an adult?

He learned she was a trained singer, though it wasn't nearly as surprising after he'd heard her sing at their Wintersend celebration. Apparently she liked to cook and bake and make blankets. All things Fenris had never even known. He assumed Orana had done all the cooking, but looking back, he noticed the mage sporting burns on her fingers and coatings of flour on her clothing. He did not even know Hawke had grown to love the servant, treating her as her own sister.

Perhaps the most interesting revelation by far was every mention of himself. Every interaction brought to life in the novel was written from the perspective of the Champion and her feelings. Evidently feelings she held in high regard towards himself. “ _She gazed longingly into the warrior's green eyes.._.”

Now the dwarf was certainly lying. Or at least misinterpreting things. As each chapter went on, their “star-crossed romance” was plain for all to see, despite there having been no romance he could recall. It was foolish, maddening, that anyone could think the Champion of Kirkwall would fall in love with a lowly ex-slave.

He was doing Hawke little credit. Pushing aside his anger, he stared into the fire in his room. She had never shown him anything but kindness and understanding. It was she who helped guide him when it came to acknowledging his own self worth. It would be just like Hawke to fall in love with anyone, of course she would never take into account their social status or race. He just couldn't believe she would fall in love with himself.

It would be a lie to say he never thought of Hawke in such a regard. She embodied beauty and grace, although she was far too humble to think such a thing of herself. More often than not, his thoughts had drifted to her, of what her hands would feel like tenderly running against the lyrium markings on his skin. He had imagined her full, pink lips brushing against his own. There had been many times he wished to put his hands on her, to feel her own soft skin. How many nights had he spent longing for her, bringing himself to completion with her name upon his lips?

He believed himself far too violent a man to ever lay with a woman like her. No, Varric had it wrong and he would see that the dwarf corrected his mistake before too many people had read such lies. It was unfair to tarnish Hawke's name by suggesting any feelings between them.

* * *

 

“They are lies, dwarf.”

Varric sighed, sweeping his hand across his face tiredly. He had been preparing for bed when Fenris stormed in, his eyes furious and demanding.

“I assure you, elf, I would never lie about Hawke,” Varric insisted.

“How could you possibly even know she had such feelings?” Fenris spat, his arms crossed defensively over his chest with the book lazily tossed on the table.

“Broody, I am her best friend. You think I didn't figure it out from day one how she felt about you?” He asked in disbelief, leaning back in the thick, dwarven chair. “Evidently it was obvious to everyone but yourself.”

“There was nothing between us. I was her friend, nothing more-”

“Yes, you were friends. It didn't stop her from loving you.”

The poor, brooding elf looked on the verge of a meltdown. There was anger in his expression, not at Varric, but at himself. “She – no, there was no way she felt anything for me.”

“Fenris, she's been head over heels for you ever since you met in the alienage. Did it ever occur to you that she respected you too much to force her feelings on you when you were going through all that shit with Danarius? I knew better than anyone else how much she just wanted you to be happy. She didn't think you'd want a relationship tying you down, especially with a mage.” Varric finished his rant, folding his spectacles and wiping the lenses on a rag.

They were silent for a long time while Varric watched the expressions change on the elf's face. Confusion, anger, sadness, determination passed through his bright, green eyes. All at once, Fenris scooped the novel up from the table he had thrown and looked once more at Varric.

“Tell me where she is... please,” Fenris demanded, his eyes solemn and voice cracking with emotion Varric never expected to see in the man.

“Why? She is safe enough right now and finally starting to find peace.” Varric couldn't help but feel protective over her, after the ordeal the city and her friends had put her through. He was angry at the Chantry for blaming Hawke when she had always done the right thing. He was angry that she suffered bouts of loneliness and melancholy while her other friends had never seemed to take notice. Hawke did not need any of the shit from Kirkwall creeping back up on her. Not even the elf she had loved so very much. Not when Varric had to watch the man before him flirting shamelessly with the Rivaini right in front of her.

“I need to make this right,” he urged, desperate.

“You were never there for her before. Why the sudden change of heart?” Varric demanded.

“Because I didn't know!” Fenris fired back, his fists clenched tightly.

“She deserves to be happy, Fenris. Her family is gone, her friends left her, and the man she loved never took notice. I don't want you going there only to have you walk out on her,” Varric explained, his voice softer than before but still with a trace of irritation.

“I won't leave her, Varric. I'll protect her, I promise,” Fenris stated seriously.

_Andraste's ass,_ he believed him. He really couldn't blame the elf too much for wanting to take the chance. Hawke would likely kill him for giving away her location, unless everything went right between her and the elf. Varric promised himself he'd step in with Bianca if he did ever hurt her.

So he told Fenris.

* * *

 

_Fasta vass_ , what was he thinking?

He shouldn't be here, scouring the countryside of Ferelden in search of a legend. His friend. His-

It's not his place. It had never been his place. Yet here he was.

There was a thick frost covering the grass and trees. He was grateful Varric had insisted on buying him a pair of boots before setting off towards Ferelden. Despite not being accustomed to shoes, he realized he'd lose his toes to frostbite quickly in this frozen country if he didn't protect himself.

She was further south than he had ever been, tucked into a tiny village bordering the Frostbacks. Why she wanted to live in the middle of nowhere was beyond him. Maybe she truly did want to disappear.

She had left him behind thinking him just a friend. He had not understood the depths of his feelings while traveling in Hawke's company. How could he, a former slave, have ever called what he felt in his heart love when he had not experiences any sort of love he could remember.

Hawke had shown him her love. He had just been blind to it. Every smile in his direction, every stolen glance across the table at the Hanged Man, every nervous flicker of her eyes across the battlefield looking for _him_ , she had always laid bare her heart and he had squandered such a treasure.

What had she been thinking? Leaving him behind after seven years of him loyally following her? He _enjoyed_ following her, into the ends of Thedas if he must. He couldn't blame her wish to escape Kirkwall but had she given up on him?

He entered the village inn, doing his best to remain anonymous, shielded from the elements in a thick, dark woolen coat. The moment his hood went down, the stares would begin. As if he wasn't recognizable already from his damned markings, Varric just had to go and publish a book describing them and his identity in great detail.

“What can I do for you, Ser?” The innkeep called to him from across the tavern, a portly human man standing behind the bar and cleaning a mug.

“A hot meal please. Perhaps a room later tonight if need be,” Fenris answered quickly, hurrying to the bar to offer coin.

“Right away, Ser.”

He sat on a barstool, pushing his hood back. The barkeep gave him a curious glance, more at the markings for once instead of his ears, and went back into the kitchen. He had not even realized how weary he had been until sitting down. His very bones felt sluggish and weak after having gone days without a proper meal or rest. He survived mostly on rations and sparse sleep above ground in the trees.

The inkeep placed a mug of ale and a bowl of meat stew with bread before him and Fenris tore into it. The human gave the elf an amused look before continuing wiping down the bar. “We don't get many visitors around these parts. What brings you to Riverrun?”

“Work,” he managed between frantic bites.

“Newest arrival in this town was a young woman. A beautiful one, no one had heard of her before. She's a healer and the school teacher now, offering lessons mostly for free. Took up in an old cottage right outside town.”

“Is that so?” He tried - and probably failed - at keeping his interest hidden.

“Lass goes by the name of Marian. Owner of the mill got his eye on her now and the older ladies are taking bets on when the wedding will be.”

The food he had been stuffing down his throat threatened to lurch out of his mouth. His vision went red, his nails clawing into his palms. He didn't know if he wanted to flee or find her immediately. Perhaps she didn't need his protection any longer.

“You say she's a healer? Does she offer potions?” Fenris asked instead, slouching over as if to appear slightly injured.

“Sure does. My wife insists her potions are the best for treating her headaches,” the innkeep assured him.

“Where might I find her?”


	2. Chapter 2

Life was quiet in the South. The village was sparsely populated, a remote location in a valley bordering the Frostbacks, tucked into a green forest. People woke before dawn to tend to their cattle, to prepare the first meal of their day. They gathered their own water near the springs or the well, never even knowing the luxury of plumbing.

It was rare for outsiders to wander into the village. Only merchants and lumberjacks ever ventured into the valleys. A lone woman looking to make a home there brought such a scandal that the people had been gossiping for weeks on end.

Very little was known about Marian. She had offered no family name and no one bothered to ask. She had claimed to be a healer, an experienced one, and any village would be fool to turn away someone willing to offer their services. The men were wary, though intrigued by her beauty, and the women were even more unwilling to approach her.

Marian claimed a cabin on the outskirts of town, surrounded by dense forest and easy to miss. On occasion, folk would come around with their ailments and she was more than happy to make them a potion or two for some coin. She went to the market about once a week to sell potions and buy food and then she'd disappear into her little cabin not to be seen until the next week unless someone came to her.

It hadn't even been a month until the children had taken to gossiping about the mysterious outsider being a witch. Such talk was dangerous around those parts and Marian knew if she didn't make more of an effort to assimilate, the Templars would be knocking on her doorstep. Again. It was almost like being with her family in Lothering, despite her being entirely alone.

The loneliness was almost unbearable. Her only companion since childhood, Ulysses, was growing weary and old and she simply couldn't stop running. Her faithful mabari had been left behind with Aveline for safekeeping while she fled. Every day she longed to run her hands against his fur and feel him curled up at her feet while she slept.

Her friends couldn't know where she was. Not like all of them even cared. Perhaps Varric and Aveline, of course Merrill, but the others... She did not want to think about them too much. Anders had been her greatest betrayal. Isabela had come to a close second. Thinking of Fenris was simply too much to handle. She would not.

Why did she miss them so much? Maybe because they had always been there, for seven years. Fenris, despite his harsh opinions on her kind, had been quick to reach for his blade when she came around. Isabela always liked their little outings, seeing it as an opportunity to find loot among the bodies they left in their wake. Anders more often than not was happy to provide healing when they needed it. Their weekly game of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man had always given her something to look forward to. Now, she had – well – nothing.

She missed Orana the most. Over the years, they had become like sisters. Hawke was never one to be a real employer. She might have paid Orana, but they cooked and cleaned together. They gossiped about every little thing, shared books after she had taught her to read, vented to each other after a bad day. In the end, Orana had found a nice man in the alienage and couldn't simply drop everything to follow Hawke. So the elf had married and settled down in a relatively nice home and sent letters as often as she could.

Sometimes she thought she should have let her mother find her a husband. She wanted to believe that love would come to her but after so many years alone, yearning for a man who couldn't possibly share her affections, she had grown jaded. Perhaps she would have had children clutching to her skirts by now.

In the mornings, she would slip on her slippers and fetch a pail of water to boil over the hearth. After making a cup of tea, she'd check the coop for fresh eggs and then try to scrounge together breakfast. Usually, she'd end up eating a stale slice of bread. After, she would bathe in the freezing stream, still a bit reluctant to buy a proper bath. She'd dress and attend to the healing herbs she planted on the sides of her dwelling. If she had gathered enough ingredients, she'd begin the process of brewing her potions. If not, she'd document her life in her journal and prepare dinner.

Since leaving Kirkwall, she'd grown more sedentary. She found she enjoyed sitting around, hiding away from the world, watching the snow lazily fall against the crisp pine surrounding her little home. Still, she needed something to do and so begrudgingly she penned a notice offering more services to the townspeople.

As she drifted slowly into the village, she thought of what her old friends would say of her now.

_“You've grown pleasantly plump, Hawke.”_

_“Hawke, I never imagined you offering to teach children!”_

_“I see no point in helping people who would so easily hand you over to the Templars.”_

Marian sighed, eager to leave the lonely copse of forest. If Carver were there, he'd call her crazy for even thinking about becoming a schoolteacher, yet the town needed a school. Who better to teach than a learned woman such as herself?

* * *

 

“Miss Marian, I don't understand,” Geoffrey whined, sitting cross-legged on her cheap rug with the other children. She fought back a sigh and kept her face in a pleasant mask.

“What do you not understand?”

“Aren't the rivers more dangerous up high? They look very calm next to Pa's mill,” the boy argued with furrowed brows and a slight frown on his lips.

“It may look so, Geoffrey, but in the valleys under mountains the waters can become quite tumultuous. It widens, creates more depth. A young mountain stream up high is usually much smaller, easier to navigate even though it looks like it runs faster,” Hawke explained patiently before turning back to the board.

The first of her lessons had been dedicated to safety and survival. Living in Ferelden during a harsh winter was home to a great many dangers. She would ensure these children had at least some knowledge of the geography and it's terrain before diving into their letters and numbers.

At the end of the lesson, the children thanked her and went on their way. She watched them disappear one by one behind the treeline heading into town. As usual, she followed silently to assure herself they made it safely home.

Geoffrey had been the most reluctant to attend her lessons. His parents had been more than happy to send him along, desperate for even a few hours a week alone. The others: Yarin, Trey, Olivia, Edwina, had been eager to visit the mysterious lady's house every week and seemed content enough with learning.

As each child, none older than ten, vanished into their own homes Marian finally deemed it safe to return to her cottage. She shivered against the biting chill, shrugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her feet, covered in simple peasant's boots which offered little protection against the snow underfoot, were beginning to lose feeling as she trudged back to her home.

When she had cleared the trees, she paused at the sight of a young woman huddled under the sparse porch, clutching a child close to her chest, shielding them from the wind. Hawke hurried over, picking up her skirts to move quickly.

“Oh, thank the Maker you're here,” the woman cried at the sight of her.

“Please come in,” Marian began, throwing open the door to her tiny home and ushering the woman and her child inside. “Whatever is the matter?”

“M-my daughter has fallen asleep and nothing I can do will wake her. She's been mumbling about such awful things,” the distraught mother explained roughly. Hawke paused, feeling her heart sink. She snapped out of her trance, helping the mother move her daughter to the bed by the hearth.

“Ma'am, has your daughter ever shown signs of being-”

“No!”

She knew that wary look all too well. There was fear in the young, elven woman's blue eyes; fear of losing her daughter to the Templars, to the Circle where she would be doomed to live a life in prison.

Hawke conjured a small flame to her palm without another thought. “You need not fear anything from me.”

The woman nodded solemnly, her eyes wet with tears. “I know nothing of magic, I don't know how to keep her safe.”

“She is in the Fade, that I know for certain. I must take a high dose of lyrium if I am to remain in the Fade long enough to see her out of it. You must know that this is incredibly dangerous and there will be a chance that your child will not come out of this herself. I will do my best to get her out of there and I swear to you that I will help you teach this child,” Marian swore, looking intently into the other woman's eyes.

Before she knew it, she had pried open her floorboard to retrieve a sack she had longed to forget. There was an ample supply of lyrium and elfroot potions, alongside the last bottle of her mother's favorite perfume and a few other tokens from Kirkwall and Lothering. She tried not to think about the familiar floral smell as she moved away.

She tried to lie comfortably close to the child before taking several potions. “There is a stew going over the hearth, you're more than welcome to it. I have a few books on the shelf you can read. If something happens... if I cannot wake, take the girl to Amaranthine. Ask for the healer, Anders.”

 

Hawke opened her eyes to Kirkwall. She was standing in Arianni's home in the Alienage watching herself try not to cry as she looked upon her friends. Friends who betrayed her.

Isabela and Fenris were decidedly not looking at her while Anders watched them with disgust. “ _They never really were your friends, were they?_ ”

No. She supposes they weren't really. She had loved them so very, very much. Time and time again she risked her life to keep them safe and yet she had remained alone in the end. “ _How could the pirate ever tie herself down by befriending a silly little farm girl? Playing at being an adult._ ”

She forgave her after the incident with the Tome of Koslun. She had fought for her and Isabela had been happy to remain in Kirkwall with her. Or so she had thought.

The hazy image of Fenris looked up at her other self, his green eyes large and filled with a hatred she had not remembered being there at the time. “ _What of the elf? The slave who toyed with your feelings so? He would have rather had the pirate._ ”

She shivered violently, watching the memory begin to unravel. Her friend's faces contorted, looking upon herself, her real self instead of the dream version, and smirked maliciously. “ _Did you think we ever could love you? Did you think we ever cared?_ ”

“Show yourself demon!” Hawke screamed, her staff suddenly appearing in her outstretched palm. The vision of Arianni's home vanished, leaving her in the rocky, green terrain of the Fade. There was no sun nor any surroundings, only the appearance of the Black City on the horizon. There was no wind, no warmth nor cold, only haze and the ever-moving ground beneath her feet.

The girl came running toward her, almost tripping on the rocks that were not actually real. Hawke bent forward, quick to steady the girl as she began to weep. “Papa doesn't want to come home. He'll never come home.”

“ _He will never love you, sweet child. Only I can love you_ ,” an eerie, spectral voice seemed to whisper around them.

“What is your name, girl?” Hawke asked quietly, ignoring the demon she had now recognized as Despair. The little half-elf girl looked up at her with wide blue eyes similar to her mother's and sniffed.

“I'm Briony,” she answered, her voice thick with sobs. Hawke opened her arms to the girl and shielded her from the demon watching them.

“Briony, you are in the Fade. You're being tricked by a demon. None of this is real,” she soothed, feeling her mana swell within her chest, ready to unleash at any moment.

“But what about Papa? Is he coming home?” Briony asked excitedly. Marian frowned and shook her head sadly at the girl.

“I'm sorry but he is not. This demon wants you to be sad about your father not coming home but you cannot let it take you. The demon doesn't want you to think of happy things, good things. Tell me, Briony, what makes you smile?”

The girl curled her fingers tightly around Hawke's shawl, looking around at the impossible surroundings. “I-I like the butterflies in the Spring and the flowers Mama lets me pick.”

“What else?”

“Mama's cinnamon cookies and my friend Millie. I like when Mama reads to me about princes marrying peasant girls.”

Hawke smiled brightly down at the girl. “Those do sound like very nice things.”

“ _Get out!_ ” The demon shrieked, bursting into their clearing. The girl cried, clutching tighter to Hawke.

“No, you get out! I banish you from this girl's dreams into the abyss from whence you came!” Hawke cried, raising her staff and summoning all her power to thrust into the demon. It flung backward, it's form beginning to disappear.

“ _No! Please, I can give you whatever your heart desires!_ ” The creature begged but Hawke snarled and threw more of her mana at it until it finally screeched and died. The girl shook against her as they both began to become spectral.

“What's happening?” Briony demanded.

“We're waking up,” Hawke smiled and so they did.

* * *

 

So it was that Hawke suddenly had herself an apprentice. A real, Sorceress's apprentice, just like the old legends before there were ever any Circles or Templars.

Briony's mother, Ursula, sent her daughter over a few days a week to practice controlling her dreams and mana. They began with the basics, of demons and spirits and what to expect in the Fade. The girl was wickedly smart and began catching on almost faster than Hawke could keep up. She was eight years old, going on nine _thank-you-very-much_ , and was eager to have access to Hawke's magical tomes during her visits. She was flourishing under Hawke's supervision, reigning in her magical prowess to successfully learn the art of healing.

The days with Briony and the other children would fly by in an instant. The days she spent alone dragged on seemingly endlessly. There was little to do but reflect on her old life and friends. How she longed for companionship and the man she knew in her heart would never be able to love her. She had been in Ferelden for half a year before she had finally received word from Varric on his whereabouts and interrogation form the Seekers. He had vowed to never give away her location and she felt more wretched than she ever had knowing it was her fault he was taken.

Her schoolchildren were doing excellent in their studies, now finally able to read and write legibly. Briony was happy to join them, along with her best friend Millie, and the people appeared to finally accept the mysterious healer on the outskirts of town.

She had helped deliver three babies, healed five patients of work-related injuries on the lumber mill, gave weekly potions to the sick and moved on to Philosophy by the time a knock came to her cottage.

It was a typical Wintersmarch morning spent checking her garden and beginning her breakfast. Hawke opened her door quickly to find the owner of the lumber mill, Edgar, desperately holding a broken saw embedded in his torso. Blood spilled over the grievous wound, seeping into his white worker's clothes and onto her porch. She hadn't even noticed the mug of tea she dropped until she was practically carrying the man into the house.

How in Thedas the man managed to limp his way to her cottage way on the other side of the village, by himself, was a mystery. She helped urge the poor sod sit upright while his eyes began to droop. No doubt, the blood loss was beginning to take its toll on him. If she didn't work quickly, he would likely die or succumb to infection if she didn't clean the wounds properly.

She flew about the cabin, boiling water and gathering rags, bandages, and sewing kits alike. Edgar had officially knocked himself out by the time her arms were piled high with supplies. With little thought of his modesty, she cut the shirt off carefully before setting to work on freeing the saw. Thankfully he had fallen asleep, giving her much-needed healing powers opportunity to fix him up properly. When the saw slid free, leaving behind jagged bits of skin and bone, she conjured her magic and set to work.

She kneaded bone and skin alike together, all the while trying to clean the wound with alcohol and purified water. Her skin had long since broken into a sweat, her hands beginning to shake with all the mana she was draining to keep the man alive.

By the time she finished, it was well past midday. Edgar Waterson was out cold, yet alive, on her bed and she considered it all well and good in a day's work. Although unfortunately in order to contain her identity as a mage, she needed to leave the scarring and cuts. Marian fled the cottage for the stream, quickly bathing and changing clothes, taking care to thoroughly wash away the blood on her white sleepwear before returning.

She went about with her routine, albeit later than usual, preparing a roast on a spit over the fire and boiling more water for potions. Today was normally her day off when neither Briony or the other children showed up for lessons. Normally she'd spend the day reading or attempting to pen a decent letter to Varric or Aveline. On occasion she'd try to write to Sebastian, an apology of sorts, but had ultimately abandoned any effort. If the Prince still wanted anything to do with her, he'd send word.

For a mere second, she entertained the idea of writing to Fenris. It was she, after all, who had taught him to read and write. Who better than her to make correspondence? Of course, that thought was left abandoned too. The elf was probably busy hunting slavers or something, likely with Isabela, and there simply wouldn't be any reason to write back or even care.

_Maker_ , the thought still stung. What a lovesick fool she had been.

She would not think of him.

“Ugh,” a moan sounded from her bed. Marian spun around by her place in the kitchen, looking upon the owner of the lumber mill waking from her bed. She hurried over with a glass of cool water, handing it to him as soon as he had leaned up a bit, placing her hands on his shoulder to keep him steady. “What happened?”

She smirked at the man and answered readily, “You tell me. You were the one to appear on my porch, bleeding out all over my yard.”

He winced as he tried to sit more upright, finishing off the rest of the glass. “I apologize, Miss.”

“No need, Serah Waterson. I took the liberty of removing the saw and sewing you back together. I gave you a few elfroot potions for the pain and can offer you more should you need them,” she explained, taking the glass to place on the end table next to her bed.

“One would think a mage wouldn't leave scars on a poor man,” he muttered and she jumped. _Maker's grace_ , she really should have been more careful. Before she could even defend herself, the man put his hand up calmly. “Now you have nothing to fear from me. If you want my opinion, we need more people like you. Healers and such.”

She nodded dumbly, finally giving the man a good look. Edgar Waterson was the only man in the village with any sort of money. He couldn't have been younger than thirty-five, possibly around forty. He had a strong jawline, a proud nose, and salt and pepper hair. She decided his light eyes held a hint of truth, of sincerity.

Her hands were alight with magic once more, finally fading the scars from his toned abdomen. When she finished, she leaned back and stood with a shy smile on her face.

“Thank you, Miss. You saved my life today and I understand you took great risk in doing so by using your magic.”

She smiled at the man, a tentative and honest curl of her lips. “My name is Marian. There's no need to thank me so, it's what anyone would have done.”

“Marian. A strong Ferelden name. It suits you,” Edgar quipped, cocking his head as if he were appraising her. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks and abruptly turned back to the kitchen.

“You're more than welcome to stay for some lunch. That was quite the injury, do you mind my asking how it happened?” Marian questioned, not even bothering to mask the curiosity in her tone. She poured some more water into his glass and reached for a large platter to hold their lunch. Quickly, she gathered some bread and leftover sliced meat and cheese from her enchanted ice box before garnishing with some fresh fruit.

“That's kind of you to offer. Honestly, I don't remember all too well. I do remember my foot slipping while holding the saw, that'd be my first guess. I was alone out there, the first of the day as always.”

She brought over the platter and a spare chair to sit beside him as they began to pick at the food. “How long have you been working the mill?”

“Well on twenty years now. I began work under my Da when I was fifteen. I've never had any sort of injury like this,” Edgar responded simply before popping a berry into his mouth. He swallowed, looking directly at her almost thoughtfully. “Where are you from?”

The question was to be expected, of course. Nevertheless, it still sent a pang directly to her heart. Kirkwall would raise suspicions and yet she felt as if lying to this man would somehow be... not wrong but unworthy. “Lothering, originally. I escaped the Blight with what remained of my family and settled in the Free Marches. Even that home was taken from me after a while.”

“You survived Lothering?” He asked, astonished. She nodded glumly, swallowing a thick gulp of water to avoid saying something she'd regret.

“What was the Blight like around here?” She asked instead.

“We got lucky. Saw no more than a few darkspawn here and there. Talk of the town is that the Hero of Ferelden passed by at one point on her way to Haven.”

Any mention of her cousin sent another guilty pang through her. Indeed it was Solona Amell who directed her to this little village to hide in the first place. She'd been meaning to keep up her letters but she hadn't even known what to say anymore.

They finished their lunch, speaking of the weather and her job teaching the village's youth. She offered him a spare coat and some elfroot potions for the soreness with a promise for him to visit once more. She thought little of the exchange.

Within the next week, Edgar had stopped by three times more. Each time there had been the excuse of a dull ache in his abdomen, wanting a potion, suggesting they take lunch together. He was an agreeable man of sorts but Hawke was having a hard time reconciling just why he had been spending so much time with her. The villagers were beginning to talk.

She was walking by the river's edge, speaking with Edgar about the mill and its many employees. How the town ran on the endless supply of lumber and what a profitable business it was in these parts.

“Marian, I must admit something,” he began, his teeth tugging nervously on his dark lip. “Meeting you has given me great joy. You are so easy to talk to.”

_Probably because I don't say anything_ , she thought. She settled for a small smile, hugging her coat tighter around her form against the chill.

“Would you care to join me in the tavern for a meal tonight?”

Her immediate thought was a no. For what purpose would that be? She shouldn't be making such good friends in her state. She did not deserve such tenderness.

Then she thought of the days she spent alone. How the melancholy had taken such a hold over her heart that she couldn't even get herself out of bed. Each morning upon waking she would think of _his_ eyes and little else. When falling asleep, she'd remember his words so clear in her mind. “ _What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?_ ”

Would it be so wrong to encourage this man and see where it leads? Fenris did not love her and would sooner pretend they were never acquainted. As with Sebastian, he also must have believed her partially responsible for the destruction Anders had wrought. If her mind had been plagued by him for months, why not at least try to distract herself a little?

“I would be delighted,” she spoke instead, shocked at her own audacity. His face lit up, a wide smile on his mouth until he walked her home, agreeing to meet that very night.

When she closed the door, her mind betrayed her. She thought of Fenris, of sharing wine by the fireside, of lounging together in her study to read and tell stories. What business did she have courting a man when her heart was left in Kirkwall?

 

* * *

 

 

_Dearest Cousin,_

_I know this letter has been long overdue and for that I do apologize. It's not as if I can use the excuse of life down here being particularly hectic. We both know I'm not busy. Well, not anymore._

_Anyway, I must thank you and your royal beau for helping me to get safe passage into our homeland. I don't think I would have possibly made it out of Kirkwall if it weren't for you._

_I am officially the village healer and school teacher. Most days I spend making potions and treating the common cold. The children learn their numbers and letters and the way of the land from none other than me. The people seem to finally accept me but still I find that I feel a stranger in these parts. Before coming home, I had not been in Ferelden in seven years. It feels like maybe it will never truly be home to me again._

_Oh, enough about my loneliness. I am here of my own volition and your kindness. I long to know you better, cousin, but I know you are off on some quest in Maker knows where. Of course I'll support you if you just give me a little hint. I know it has something to do with the Wardens. Do you know my brother, who so happens to also be your cousin, is a Warden? You two would get along great. Actually, no you wouldn't. You're a leader and Maker knows he hates following in his family's footsteps._

_Your letters give me something to look forward to. I hope to see you again, whenever that day may be. Perhaps one day you'll settle down alongside me in the countryside, like other families do. We will sit on our porch swings and drink tea and gossip about the wily youth._

_Send my regards to your Highness and that assassin friend of yours. Stay safe out there, Solona._

_Love,_

_Marian_

 

_PS. If you ever need help on your quest, I would be more than happy to assist._

 

_Dear Fenris,_

_I probably should have written this letter a while ago. I'm sorry. Truthfully, I feared it might not have been welcome. A part of me feels like you wouldn't even care-_

No. That simply would not do. Hawke groaned, exasperated, scratching out the words on the vellum with her quill. Of course she would never send this letter. Why she had even bothered trying to write it was beyond her.

He was with Isabela. Of that there could be no doubt. The pain of such knowledge had admittedly dulled while being away from him. She had spent years pining and really, it had all become quite pathetic. Her feelings were glaringly obvious and it was a wonder how he even allowed such flirtation over the years. He knew and he did not care.

The nights were the hardest. There were no children to teach, no mages to instruct, no villagers stopping by for their ailments. At least in Kirkwall she had Orana, Bodhan and Sandal to keep her company. She missed every meal she spent with them, the nights they'd lounge around and just speak of their day. Wherever they were, she hoped they were happier now.

It was freezing cold, the frost creeping up the glass of the windows. She couldn't see much past the porch, leaving her feeling vulnerable so far from the other neighbors and shrouded in forest. In Lothering they lived in an open field with only crops to surround them. In Kirkwall, she'd had numerous neighbors as far as the eye could see.

Being alone in the wilderness in the dead of winter wasn't exactly comforting. Her doors and windows had been bolted shut, with the curtains keeping her hidden from view. Her main objective was to keep the fire alive while she huddled under a blanket next to it. She remembered Fenris sleeping like this in front of the fire in his mansion. “ _I would never use a bed owned by a magister again_ ,” he had explained. They would sit together right there, passing between them a bottle of wine as they spoke of books or Kirkwall or their day.

She would not think of him.

Hawke curled up on the floor by the fire, letting the warmth seep into her cool skin as she fell asleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you have it. Absolute tooth-rotting fluff, some shameless Fenris trash because I love it. Hope you enjoyed!

“I _can't_ do it.”

“Briony, I watched you do it just a moment ago. Think of the frost that surrounds us, the ice on your finger on the glass of the window. Imagine that in your palm.”

The girl with the slightly pointed ears and wispy golden hair huffed in obvious annoyance. “Being a mage is hard.”

“Maker, isn't that the truth?” Marian retorted with a smirk.

A knock interrupted them, sending an immediate shock of alarm to Marian. The first thought she had was that it was the Templars, but the Templars went rogue months ago. Perhaps it was a student asking for help with their homework. Maybe someone with an illness?

“Wait right here, Briony,” she instructed calmly. She brushed her wrinkled skirt down and ran her fingers through her longer, dark hair.

When she answered the door, she gasped.

It couldn't possibly be him and yet there he was. What other elf with a massive sword and lyrium markings could there be?

“ _Fenris_?” Hawke whispered in shock. She couldn't comprehend anything, yet alone move.

“You know this man?” Briony demanded, suddenly beside her and she jumped.

“Briony, I told you to stay back!” Marian scolded and the girl sighed.

“ _Sorry_ , I got bored.”

“Maybe we should finish our lesson tomorrow? You can bring the tome with you for homework but remember don't try anything without me!” She suggested nervously, shoving the tome into the girl's arm and nudging her towards the door.

“There's supposed to be a storm tomorrow, Miss Marian. I get to skip lessons remember?” The girl smirked devilishly, causing Hawke to roll her eyes.

“Yes, fine. But after the storm has passed-”

“I _knooooow_.”

A familiar bark interrupted them. Hawke spun on her heel, her veins thrumming with anticipation knowing just what was coming. “Ulysses!”

The mabari launched himself around Briony and Fenris, shoving directly into Hawke's chest and knocking her backwards onto the floor. Briony gasped with fear while Hawke giggled into her mabari's fur. Ulysses drooled mercilessly, whining and barking with utter delight at being reunited with his owner.

Fenris gave Briony a brief nod as she passed him with a worried frown on her face, reluctantly glancing at him and the mabari before stepping outside to leave. After Ulysses had calmed and took a seat by the fire, Hawke stood on shaky knees to finally regard the brooding elf in her doorway. They were silent, with Fenris taking in his new surroundings. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. It simply could not be.

“How did you find me?”

He spun around on his heel, looking into her very soul with those big, forest eyes. “Varric.”

They stared for a while at each other before she awkwardly coughed into her fist, embarrassed. “Please, sit. Make yourself at home.”

She guided him to a chair by the fire, where she had fallen asleep thinking of him just the night before, taking his coat and boots in order for him to get comfortable. She had no idea what to say. “A cup of tea?”

“Perhaps something stronger.”

“Right.”

Marian fished around in her cupboard, finally finding her stored wine that Fenris gifted her years ago for Wintersend. Aggregio Pavali, the elf's favorite. She poured him a full glass and handed it to him, trying to mask the trembling of her hands. For the first time in months she was afraid. The source of her constant anxiety was sitting by the fire before her. She joined him in a second chair across from him.

The elf's black brows shot up into his hairline when he tasted the wine. “However did you acquire Aggregio this far south?”

“I didn't,” she said with flushed cheeks, “you gifted the bottle to me for Wintersend a few years back.”

“And you kept it?” He asked, his voice incredulous.

“Well, yes. To remind me of...” Marian coughed into her palm and looked determinedly into the flames. His elongated ears twitched and his dark bronze skin was tinged red on his cheeks.

He looked very much the same since they had parted. His eyes were the same shade of green she had admired for many years. The patterns of the markings glimmered in the firelight against his skin, much the same as they always had. She found that still, she longed to trace the pads of her fingers over them. The only real difference she could see was his hair, longer now and brushed back as if his fingers had run hastily through the snow-white strands.

“Fenris, I must ask why – that is, I'm happy to see you again – but why are you here?” She blurted. Really, she had little control of her mouth around him.

“You aren't safe. I wanted to ensure that you are,” the elf insisted as it was was simple, his voice a low and tired grumble.

“Why would that be? So far my identity has remained hidden here. I don't understand,” Marian argued softly.

“A war is on the horizon, thanks to the work of the abomination. The dwarf finally published his book, _The Tale of the Champion_ ,” he spoke while pulling a thick book with a red cover out of his pack. Her mouth fell open, finally gazing upon Varric's work. She had avoided it for so long. “It is now the best selling book in all of Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.”

“Everyone knows?” Hawke asked, dazed. He gave her a quick nod and she groaned, her head falling into her hands. A sudden headache threatened to overcome her. “I will never escape what I've done. I fear I shall live with what my actions for all eternity.”

“You speak as if you have done wrong,” he stated.

“Of course I have. It's my fault Anders-”

“Do not ever blame yourself for the actions of that abomination!” He roared suddenly, bolting up from his chair and knocking over his now empty glass of wine. She couldn't help but wince at his tone, stunned at the sudden passion overtaking the elf. He stalked towards her, leaning down and looking directly into her eyes seriously. “You did everything you could for Kirkwall. Even if I didn't agree with your intent to help the mages at the time, there was good in your heart. I know that now.”

His gaze threatened to undo her entirely. She was frozen to her seat, stuck in a trance as she lost herself in his eyes. They were mere inches apart, so readily within reach. If she just leaned forward so she could–

“Why did you disappear, Hawke?” The fire had left his eyes, leaving only guilt and a sadness she had not expected to find.

“Because I am dangerous. I couldn't let any of you be harmed and even then Varric still got caught,” she tried desperately to explain, her body shaking with anxiety. It was a new feeling, her helplessness.

“He wasn't caught, he gave himself to the Seekers to throw them off your trail,” Fenris interjected.

“But why?” Varric had never mentioned any such thing in his letters.

“He cares for you, Hawke. As do we all – as do I,” he corrected. The admission made her feel absolutely elated. Her eyes shut, a single tear escaping down her cheek, letting his words wash over her. For so long she had told herself she had meant nothing to him, nothing to the man who consumed her almost every thought.

“You care for me?” She breathed out, as if the words were mere fantasy.

“Ever since that night Anso brought you to my aid,” Fenris admitted, his voice low. Her eyes opened, gleaming and ecstatic to watch a fond look cross his face. Hawke smiled brilliantly up at him, unable to disguise her sudden joy.

“Well... that is, I-” Hawke fumbled for words, feeling even more heat engulfing her face. All at once he had pulled away, returning to his seat. She felt the loss of his presence so near almost immediately.

“How could you think I do not care for you?” He wondered aloud, looking pointedly at her. The rug beneath their feet suddenly looked very interesting while under his scrutiny.

“I don't know – I guess I just thought if I left that I would be easy enough to forget. You all could move on without me holding you back,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice. _Maker_ , how she sounded so weak now.

“You're wrong. I enjoy following you.” She looked back up at him quickly, his eyes serious with no indication that he was having her on. Fenris wouldn't do that to her anyway. Maybe.

“But what of Isabela?” Hawke sputtered. His brows furrowed as if he was trying to comprehend what she was implying.

“What about Isabela?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“I thought you two were... involved,” the words came out harsh and awkward. Fenris watched her, a knowing look finally passing in his green eyes as a smirk played at his lips.

“I don't know what gave you such an impression but I can assure you that there has never been anything between Isabela and myself. It wasn't for lack of trying on the pirate's part but I was never interested.” His explanation sounded more amused than anything. Hawke was so confused and embarrassed that she feared she looked even more foolish than she already felt.

“Oh... well then,” she muttered mostly to herself and the elf laughed. It was a delightful sound coming from the usually stoic man before her; warm and deep, inviting her to join effortlessly. She chuckled, embarrassed by her own folly and yet feeling her heart soar within her chest.

“Forgive me, I am not such a gracious host. How was your journey?” She finally changed the subject, more than willing. His eyes still held a hint of mirth in them as he settled back in his chair, stretching his legs and picking up his fallen glass.

“It was very long and tiresome yet sitting here with you again has made it all the more worth it,” Fenris murmured, his voice deepening. She clenched her fist against her skirt, fighting against the obvious blush that seemed to permanently mark her skin in his presence.

“A-and how are the others?” She forced herself to ask.

“We all miss you, Hawke. I cannot speak for Sebastian or the abomination, of course, but it is not the same without you,” he admitted freely.

“Varric is-”

“He's fine, I promise you that. The Seekers allow him to move freely again. His book has become so popular that the fame is starting to get to his head,” the elf mused with a quirk to his lips. “I take it you have not read it.”

“I haven't had the chance, no,” she spoke with a shake of her head.

“There's some _very_ interesting passages. The entire book is an account of your life in Kirkwall, as you well know, but I shall read you some of my favorite passages if you'd like.” The offer was surprising, but she gave him a quick nod of her approval nonetheless.

The elf cleared his throat as he reached for the well-worn novel, flipping through pages and pages until he found what he was looking for. “The tension was thick in the air between Hawke and Fenris. Their friends had watched them dance this waltz time and time again and yet nothing had borne fruit. Yet.”

A gasp escaped her, her hand hurriedly covering her mouth as she listened. “The Ferelden refugee girl was patient with the escaped Tevinter slave; some would argue that she was too patient. She would never hurt him, never overstep the careful boundaries he had drawn up. If friendship was all the elf was willing to give, she would readily take it and cherish it. It was just the kind of person she was.

The Champion loved him. The words never had to leave her mouth for all to know, excluding the elf. It was tragic, watching her love him from afar while he was blinded by the ghosts of his past.”

He finished, leaving her in stunned silence. _How could Varric write that?_ Her heart was racing, panic in her eyes as her fingers nervously played at her skirt. Fenris closed his book and set it back down on his pack next to his feet.

“ _I'm going to kill that dwarf_ ,” Hawke thought to herself in astonishment.

“Hawke,” Fenris began, drawing her attention back to him. There was a determination set in his face as he leaned forward. “Meeting you was the most important thing to ever happen to me. When I first read the book I was enraged with the dwarf, just as you may be now. Yet he was right. I was, in fact, too blind to see what was always there in front of me.”

“Fenris, please-” she begged, her anxiety threatening to swallow her whole. She couldn't hear this, couldn't possibly hear how much he did _not_ want her.

“Please let me finish,” he pleaded softly. “It was not until you were gone when I realized just what you meant to me. Letting you disappear thinking that your feelings would always be unrequited felt so wrong. Marian, I am yours.”

For a long moment, everything was still. The wind outside was beginning to quicken, yet the sound of the morning birds still chirped merrily. Fenris stared at her with big, eager eyes and yet she found that she had been rendered utterly speechless.

This was a joke in poor taste. Varric had laid bare and published her heart for all of Thedas to see and now Fenris was here to mock her for it. There could be no other explanation. For years she had longed for such a moment but what could possibly implore him to suddenly admit to possessing such feelings?

A small sob escaped her traitorous mouth even as she tried to stifle it against her palm. Her eyes spilled with tears and she fought to retain any semblance of control over her feelings. “Fenris you don't have to lie to me,” she insisted.

He shook his head, moving from his chair to kneel before her's. Suddenly her hands were being pulled into his. His palms were rough with callouses from years of wielding a greatsword while his fingertips were soft against her skin.

“I did not know who I was when I met you. You showed me what it was to be free, truly free and not blinded by rage and hatred. You gave me the gift of literacy, something I never could have dreamed possible. I know now who I am and where my heart belongs. I meant what I said, Marian, _I am yours._ However long you'll have me.”

She smiled uncontrollably as the tears continued to fall. Hawke knew better than to think Fenris would ever lie to her. Despite the violence of his past, his previous need for revenge, Fenris was never the type of man to lie to her. Maker have mercy, she believed him. “Of course I will, Fenris. I've always loved you.”

A wide smile blossomed on his dark, pink lips before he surged forward, pulling her to her feet to take her in a searing kiss. His lips were demanding and fierce against her's as he ran his hands along her back, tangling into her long hair. She felt her eyes close and her chest swell as she let herself get lost in him.

Her clothes had been left in tatters when they had finished undressing each other. Every part of her skin exposed to the cold was warmed by his insistent touch, his exploring hands and mouth. He had taken her to the bed, softly depositing her over the sheets before bowing over her. They moved together, hands entwined and staring deeply into each others eyes and suddenly everything was okay. Her little world had been made right once more.

* * *

 

Dawn broke over the mountains the next day, although one wouldn't know seeing as how dark it was. A harsh wind pelted against the trees, sending chunks of snow flying into the air around the cottage. The windows rattled ominously, threatening to burst open as the storm began in earnest. There was little one could do beside stay indoors.

Marian awoke with a jump to the howling wind. She groggily scanned her eyes across the dark little cottage, unsure of just what she had been looking for. A deep sigh interrupted her thoughts, an instant reminder of just what had occurred the previous day.

Fenris was holding her tightly against him, a beacon of warmth and respite. He had anchored her to the bed, sleepily unwilling to release her from his insistent grip over her naked waist. From this angle, she could feel almost every inch of him at her back: his soft skin, his rough callouses, the hard planes of his chest and- _Oh_.

It had to have been a dream. The man she had loved for more than seven years was finally holding her to him. They had made love several times yesterday, learning each others' bodies and making up for almost a decade of lost time together. She was sore in all the right ways, covered in bruises and love bites from her neck to her thighs.

She closed her eyes, not yet ready to face the new day when all she ever wanted was laying beside her. Unfortunately, a sudden and persistent knock at her door interrupted that thought. Fenris groaned beside her, his hold tightening around her waist as he began to come to.

The knock continued, finally waking the now grumpy elf. She gave him a sheepish look as she swung her legs around the bed. “I wonder who that is,” she murmured mostly to herself as she pulled on a robe.

“Whoever it is better have a good reason for interrupting us at such an hour. I have plans for you yet, Hawke,” Fenris said with a devilish smirk as he lounged back onto the pillows and looked her up and down. Just the look he gave her made her knees weaken and cheeks flush.

“ _Fenris_ ,” she chastised with a nervous giggle as she passed Ulysses by the hearth to open the door. Her expression immediately fell.

“Marian, I just had to see you. I thought we could wait out the storm together,” Edgar Waterson yelled over the wind, whipping his light hair around his head wildly. He hugged his coat tight around his body, fighting the cold.

“Edgar, whatever compelled you to go out in such weather?” She asked, dumbfounded and altogether unsure of just how to handle this. She had completely forgotten there was ever another man interested in her after Fenris arrived.

“It was you, Marian!” He answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Can I come inside?”

A rough hand on her shoulder made her jump, and the door swung open more to reveal a very shirtless and very disgruntled Fenris. “And who is this?” Fenris asked casually, his hand snaking down from her shoulder to wrap around her waist possessively.

Edgar was speechless and Marian felt positively scandalized. It was not that she was ashamed of Fenris, but she had hoped to let the poor man down easy. His eyes filled with a sudden understanding mixed with sorrow and his head fell.

“I... I see. Good day to you Marian,” Edgar mumbled before turning and hurrying away from the clearing.

“Maker, that was bad,” Hawke said with a cringe, bolting the door shut behind them. The elf cocked a dark brow at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Who was that man?” He demanded, his tone not quite angry but suspicious.

“His name is Edgar Waterson. He owns the lumber yard and we met when he received an injury from work. I believe he was sweet on me ever since but I never harbored any such feelings for him. We went to the tavern together a little while back and for some reason the whole town believed I'd marry him within the year,” she explained fully, fearing nothing for she had little to hide. Her heart had belonged to Fenris the whole time anyway.

“Oh,” he responded. It appeared that wasn't the answer he was expecting. “So you were not lovers?”

She giggled and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “No, we were never lovers. It wouldn't have been fair seeing as how I couldn't get you off my mind ever since I left Kirkwall.”

His shoulders relaxed and suddenly she felt him returning the embrace. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his fingers brushing through her long, dark hair. “What fools we were,” he murmured into her hair, bringing a smile to her lips.

“Indeed,” she was inclined to agree.

“Why did you never tell me, Hawke?”

“I thought it obvious. Yet still I never wanted to push you, to make you feel uncomfortable with me,” Marian answered as plainly as she could. Her lips brushed against his bare skin as she spoke, sending a noticeable shiver down the elf's chest.

“Did you truly believe I didn't return those feelings?” Fenris questioned softly, his arms tightening around her.

“Never. You had given me no indication before and then... I believed you and Isabela to be together,” she admitted with an embarrassed laugh.

“I apologize. If I had known maybe things would have been different. Perhaps I would have found happiness with you _years_ before we ever got ourselves into this mess,” Fenris agreed, tenderly bowing his head to take her in a kiss so consuming, so filled with longing and desire that it brought her to her knees.

They fumbled back to the bed, eager to continue just where they left off.

* * *

 

Indeed there was a wedding within the year Marian came to Riverrun. To the little village's great astonishment, the mysterious teacher and healer had quickly run off to the Chantry not with the wealthy owner of the lumber mill but with an even more mysterious stranger.

An oddly tall elf with broad shoulders and vibrant white markings trailing along his dark skin had followed Marian into the village as soon as the storm had passed. It was market day, the busiest day in the village and the healer had not come with coin nor potions to sell. She wore a long-sleeved, white gown and her hair loose and wavy. The large elf on her arm wore dark leathers and a wide grin.

The people watched as they vanished into the little Chantry, astonished to hear the ringing but a few moments later symbolizing a marriage. The older folks tutted in grim acceptance at the odd couple, while the schoolchildren cheered and clapped when they exited the builing, husband and wife. Ursula and her daughter, Briony, tossed white flower petals in their path as the elf swung his new bride into his arms and hurried behind the treeline in the direction of the little cottage Marian had claimed for herself.

* * *

 

Another room and an upstairs had been quickly built onto the cottage before the arrival of the new babe. At the news of babies, the older women had been in a frenzy to befriend Marian and fret over her and her child's health. Her lessons with the children and Briony had reluctantly ended for the time being after a little girl had entered the world.

Her ears were more round than pointed, her skin darker than her mother's and lighter than her father's. She had inherited her mother's eyes and hair, yet inherited her father's proud nose and stern frown when she was unhappy. She was born in the dead of winter, around the time her parents had finally gotten together, and she was loved wholly and unconditionally. That was why _no one_ could know about her. Save Varric.

 

_Hawke,_

 

_Andraste's glorious tits, I really don't want to involve you in this. Especially now that you and Broody have gone all domestic. Everything is well... shit._

_I've joined up with this Inquisition (willingly) and it turns out we need some help putting the world back together. You're fairly good at fixing things, so I may have dropped your name once or twice to the Inquisitor. Turns out, she's a fan._

_It's Corypheus, Hawke. He's back. It's the only reason I could ever have to drag you away from your happiness. Maker knows, I really don't want to. He is not dead and he plans to destroy the world as we know it. You have fought him before and the Inquisitor needs your expertise. We're not too far away with you being at the bottom of the mountain. We could meet within a fortnight._

_I'm so sorry. Send my love to Beth._

 

_Varric_

 

Leaving had been the hardest thing she had ever had to endure. She had created a life in the wilds of Ferelden, surrounded by love and everything she could ever want. Not only did she have Fenris to think of, she had a _child_. She could very well die on this expedition and Varric knew it. It must have been dire if the dwarf was begging her, a new mother, for help.

The way Fenris had looked at her after reading the letter had carved a hole in her heart. How could she leave him? How could she leave them?

Yet he understood. The acceptance in his large, bright eyes had shown her that at least. On the last night they spent together before parting, they clung to each other with Bethany sleeping peacefully between them, desperately seeking rest but too anxious to find any.

“Promise me you won't die, Hawke,” Fenris breathed into her ear, his voice sad and so very tired. They had left this life of adventure and death behind them for a reason. “I cannot bear the thought of living without you.”

Tears fell down her cheeks, falling into Bethany's dark, wispy hair. She leaned down, placing a gentle kiss upon her daughter's forehead before looking back up to Fenris. “I don't make that promise unless you do.”

“Nothing will keep you from me. Not even that damned Inquisition. Know that if anything happens, I will find you. I would keep you safe.”

She believed him and it brought another sharp pang of anguish to her heart. “You must keep her safe. She needs your protection, Fenris, she needs you. That is why you must stay.”

He closed his eyes, sighing heavily and trying to mask the emotion in his voice as he spoke. “I know.”

They kissed, soft and breathless for a long, drawn out moment before they parted. She brushed his hair away from his face and smiled, pained and yet full of love.

With her father's staff strapped to her back and her Champion's armor donned, she marched past the stunned villagers on her way up the path to the Frostbacks and disappeared not to be seen for a long time.

* * *

 

_Fenris,_

 

_I am alive. I'm coming home. Give Beth a kiss for me._

 

_I am yours,_

 

_Marian_

 

When he saw her again, she had entered the village square filled with folk running errands. All had stopped to look at her, now aware of her identity and stunned at her reappearance. Fenris had been holding Beth in the crook of his arm, bartering with a merchant when the silence distracted them and he looked up.

There she was in all her glory, armor bloodied and a new dent in her staff. She gave him a crooked, teary grin and they immediately hurried for each other. He received the letter she had given him and yet still, he hadn't believed it.

Varric's letter had detailed everything Hawke had not been willing to diverge. She'd battled undead, Wardens, and demons alike. She physically traversed the Fade and was forced to leave her friend, Stroud, behind when the Inquisitor commanded it. She had been injured, almost fatally according to Varric, and had been confined to the healer's tent at Skyhold until she had been given permission to travel.

Only when she fell into his arms, clinging to his clothes and Bethany, covering the both of them in kisses and joyous laughter, did he let himself believe she was alive and real. She had survived and she truly never would leave again.

The people watched the reunion and yet he didn't have a single care in the world at that moment. His wife was home, she was safe and whole and never again would he fear her leaving his and their daughter's side again. His world had been made right once more.

 


End file.
